Highland Wolf

by Hannah Howell

  “What do ye want?” he demanded of his brother. “And cease that cursed grinning.”

  “I just wanted to stop ye before ye charged up those stairs, burst into your bedchamber, and scared poor Annora half to death,” Tormand said. “Ye had that look.”

  “What look are ye talking about?”

  “The look of a crazed mon who thinks his wife is being tortured and he must get to her to make sure that all the dangers of childbed stay far, far away. Doesnae work, brother. Ne’er has. Ne’er will. Only adds to the fears the poor lass already has.”

  Tormand’s voice had grown very soft and James took a quick glance toward Meggie only to find her watching him very closely. “Aye, ye are right,” he said and strode over to one of the big windows that lined one wall of the great hall and looked out toward the gates. “We have heard our kinswomen say the same thing often enough that I should have recalled the advice ere now.”

  “Is it true that MacKay wanted to make these windows of stained glass like they have in the kirk?” asked Tormand. “Who did the fool think he was?”

  “A laird who could become a king if he was clever enough.” James thought of the large stained glass panels that had arrived at Dunncraig a few months after MacKay had died. The idiot had spent too many years in France seeing all the excesses of the nobility o’er there and he wanted to recreate something similar here. A verra vain mon.”

  Looking at Tormand’s far too innocent expression, James inwardly cursed. It was easy to guess the game his brother played, the one where someone distracts the poor fretting husband from where his wife is and what is happening to her. What really annoyed James was that it had worked for a little while. Even worse, he suspected Tormand could play the game again and it would work again. James reluctantly admitted to himself that he was eager to be distracted, but that did not mean he had to like being manipulated.

  “I think the moment MacKay set his arse in the laird’s chair his mind began to rot,” James said. “Aye, he wanted stained glass windows. I got some huge panes of it delivered here nay so long ago. All paid for so there is nay sending them back to their maker. I cannae put the cursed things up in my windows, for they would block all view of the bailey from here. They would also cut out what little sunlight we get into this room. But the biggest reason I willnae be using them is because of what is depicted in the panels of the windows.”

  “Ah, ’tis all naked women frolicking, is it? Scenes of rampant debauchery.”

  “Weel, aye, but what makes them so appalling is that the mon in the center of all the lewdness shown in the picture is MacKay, Eagan seated at his right. Both naked. Both being weel attended by buxom women. And, if I may say so, both with endowments worthy of some mythic bull.”

  Tormand laughed so hard he slumped against the wall to keep from falling down. “Ye jest.”

  “Sad to say, nay, I dinnae.”

  “If this is what they have in France, mayhap I have been remiss in nay visiting our kinsmen o’er there.”

  “I doubt they have such nonsense in France.”

  “Ye must tell me where ye have put them. I need to look at such wonders.”

  “Annora saw them and laughed so hard I feared she would drop the bairn right there and then.”

  “They are that amusing?”

  “’Tis all good work, beautiful colors and all, but ’tis the way MacKay arid Egan are drawn that makes what might have been a beautifully arousing painting into little more than some grand, expensive jest. I have a few men coming in later in the summer to look at them and see if there is any way to, weel, fix them, clean them up a wee bit, shall we say? Several pieces are verra good despite the lechery depicted, and because they were to be but one part of a large scene, the king and his jester with their endowments arenae there.”

  “I shall have to take a look at them, I think. I may e’en buy one from ye if ’tis as good as ye say it is.”

  “Ye want to put windows in your home that depict rampant debauchery?”

  There is naught that says the piece must be part of a window. It just needs light shining through it to see the best of the colors, aye? So that might be arranged in some other way and thus the panels nay blessed with MacKay’s and Egan’s godlike personages could be treated as, weel, just a picture done in glass.”

  James thought about that for a moment and slowly nodded. He could think of one or two of the pieces that were beautiful, the lechery that was depicted only a small part of what intrigued one about them. He was certainly not going to tell Tormand that, once the laughter had passed, he and Annora had studied some of the panels and become very aroused. They had shut and barred the storeroom door and made love right there on the floor.

  There was even one panel in particular he would not mind keeping just as it was, for the woman featured the most clearly looked very much like Annora, much to her horrified surprise. James suspected that, despite his cruelty to his cousin, MacKay had recognized her beauty. He just thanked God that MacKay had never let that beauty stir his lust to the height where he had tried to take her. The man had obviously had a few lustful thoughts about her, however, as that sultry woman depicted in the stained glass panel revealed. The fact that a man who looked a lot like him in his Rolf guise was in another one of the pictures was something he did not really care to think about, although Annora had found it intriguing once she had gotten past the jealousy stirred by seeing him shown with other women. And James had no intention of sharing some of the exquisitely drawn books showing various ways to make love or the tapestry hanging in the laird’s chamber that also showed scenes of debauchery.

  “MacKay didnae like the usual religious scenes or moral allegories or e’en hunting scenes depicted in most art,” he said, smiling faintly. “S’truth, I hadnae realized more, shall we say, earthy matters were e’en shown in stained glass or stitchery.”

  “If the one doing the work is skilled enough, he or e’en she can make a picture of whate’er is wanted,” Tormand said. “’Tis just that MacKay seemed to want what would make everyone else turn their gazes away. I have seen things that show the more earthy things as weel, although it appears MacKay was planning on making Dunncraig Keep some bastion of lewd works.” Tormand suddenly grabbed hold of James’ arm again. “Big Marta has arrived.”

  Since Big Marta was one of the women tending the birth of his child, James tensed and realized Tormand had grabbed his arm to steady him. Mayhap even to keep him from doing something foolish. James stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back in an effort to look calm. He glanced down when a weight suddenly settled against his leg and he found Meg leaning against him. His daughter was obviously not completely ignorant of the fact that there was an ever-present danger hanging over the birthing bed. He unclasped his hands and wrapped his arm around her short, thin body as best he could.

  “Weel, laddie,” said Big Marta as she stopped right in front of him obviously savoring the fact that everyone gathered in the great hall had gone silent upon her entrance and waited for her to speak, “ye got yourself a good little breeder there. E’en her pains werenae all that bad, the worst coming in only the last hour or so.”

  Although he felt almost weak-kneed his relief was so great, James managed to sound calm as he asked, “Annora and the child are weel, then?”

  “Aye, that they are. Ye have a fine, big son,” Big Marta announced and grinned around at everyone when they cheered. “And, aye, your lady is fine, naught but tired from a hard day of work.”

  Big Marta had barely finished speaking when James began to run for the stairs leading up to the bedchambers. It took him a moment to realize that there was a weight on his left leg making his movements awkward and the laughter echoing in the great hall was far too boisterous to be no more than a reaction to an anxious new father racing to see his wife and new son. James stopped and looked down into Meggie’s laughing brown eyes. She was clinging to his leg with her arms and legs, hanging on tightly as he ran. Laughing, he picked her up and
tossed her over his shoulder, then began running again. Tormand was right at his heels, for he had been the one chosen to look at the new heir to Dunncraig and then take word back down to the great hall and the various cousins waiting there.

  Annora’s eyed widened with surprise as James burst into the bedchamber, a grinning Tormand right behind him, and a giggling Meggie draped over his broad shoulder. Once her surprise eased, however, she grinned back at them as they all gathered around the bed where she lay with her new son in her arms. She had been terrified of giving birth, recalling far too many bad ones and ones ending in the woman’s death, but it had all been rather easy.

  Although she knew she was very fortunate, she also knew that she had James’ foster family to thank for some of that ease. Knowing they might not be able to be at Dunncraig for the birth, James’ tiny, sweet mother, Bethia, and several of his cousins had all come to visit several months ago. The instructions they had given Big Marta, Annora, and several other women had proven their worth. Annora knew in her heart that many babies and mothers at Dunncraig would be saved in the future because of the knowledge those women had shared.

  “Why isnae he all red and wrinkly like Morag’s wee sister, Mama?”

  Hearing the word mama on Meggie’s lips nearly caused Annora to burst into tears. She had been waiting almost a year to hear it, waiting to know for certain that Meggie had accepted her as her mother. Glancing at James, she saw the faint sheen in his eyes, knew he had heard that final, full acceptance of her as well, and was feeling nearly as emotional as she was. There was a glint of uncertainty in Meggie’s big eyes and Annora knew she had to hide her tears and save them for later.

  She smiled at Meggie. “He is a big lad, Meggie-love. I think that makes a difference. Morag’s sister was a verra wee lass.” One who would have certainly died if the Murray women had not arrived at that precise time and quickly offered their skills to help Morag’s mother keep her child alive.

  “What is my brother’s name? Mungo?” asked Meggie as she peeked under and around the baby’s swaddling.

  “Nay, we arenae naming our son after a cat,” said James, lightly swatting Tormand when the younger man laughed.

  “It isnae a cat’s name,” protested Annora. “It was the name of my childhood friend.”

  Then ye shouldnae have given it to a cat. I offer ye the choice of Niocal and Quinton.”

  He was being a little arrogant about the naming of their child, but Annora had already decided not to argue with him over the name. “Quinton, then. Quinton Murray Drummond.”

  “Ah, now, that is a fine name and shall please the elders,” said Tormand as he grasped Meggie by the hand. “Come, my wee beauty, and help me tell the cousins the news.”

  Meggie tugged free of his hold and dashed over to Annora’s side of the bed to give her a quick hug and a kiss. Annora lovingly returned it. A moment later she was alone with James. She watched as he sat on the bed beside her. He kissed her in a way that made her toes curl with pleasure despite the fact that her body still ached from giving birth. Then he held out his hands for Quinton and she did not hesitate to put their child in his arms.

  She waited patiently as he unwrapped the baby, for she had done the same right after Big Marta had put the baby in her arms. Right along with James, she silently counted each little finger and toe all over again. By the time he reswaddled their child and looked at her, she knew her eyes were as wet with tears as his were. He blinked his away as he settled himself on the bed beside her, wrapping his arm around her, and holding her close by his side, little Quinton still snuggled safely in the crook of his other arm.

  “Ye have done me proud, Annora-mine,” he said quietly and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  Annora rested her head against his shoulder, her gaze fixed upon their sleeping child. “Quinton is a miracle we had an equal part in making.”

  “But ye did most of the work.”

  “Weel, I willnae argue that.”

  “And ye arenae in too much pain?”

  “Nay. I but ache and am verra tired.”

  “I began to fear that something was wrong, for I didnae hear ye make any sound.”

  “Oh, I made plenty of noise, but nay the screaming that can carry to where the father waits.” She reached across James’ broad chest to stroke her child’s soft cheek. “He was worth every pain, every grunt and groan, and all the offenses to my modesty.”

  “Och, aye, and he was worth every white hair I grew in the last far too many hours of feeling utterly helpless.” James grinned when she laughed and then ever so lightly touched Quinton’s hair. “He has your thick black hair. Blue eyes?”

  “For now, but I am hoping they will be green. Meggie called me Mama,” she whispered, feeling choked with tears for a moment.

  “Finally, but ye were right. It was best to allow her to decide and choose her time. I but felt that ye had always been more of a mother to her than Mary e’er was or e’er would have been and wanted ye to have the honor of that name immediately.”

  “It means more when it comes from her heart, and nay just because her beloved da told her to do it.”

  “Aye, I felt that, too, when I heard her say it. I just always want what I want immediately and then I have to talk some sense into myself. I have ye to do that for me now.”

  “Aye, ye do, but I understand wanting something immediately. I wanted ye immediately. The moment I kenned I was carrying your child I wanted him in my arms immediately. ’Tis a strong temptation to want what ye want right away.”

  “Weel, I shallnae be tempted again. I have all I want now.”

  She looked up at him and murmured her pleasure when he kissed her. “As do I. I have my big ruddy, green-eyed wolf.” He blushed a little just as he had the first time she had told him about her dream.

  “I love ye, Annora-mine.”

  “And I love ye. I loved ye when I first saw ye. I loved ye when ye saved me from Egan, especially when ye were ready to give all this up and take me to France just to keep me from the mon. And each day I love ye more. Ye have given me all I have e’er wanted.”

  “I have?”

  “Aye. Ye have given me a family. A big, loud, loving, laughing, arguing, tramp-mud-into-the-great-hall family. Ye, me, Meggie, and now Quinton and whate’er other children we are blessed with are the heart of that family, but the rest of them, blood kin or nay, are a pure joy. Thank ye, husband.”

  “Ah. Lass, I am the one who should be the most grateful. Ye gave me back my heart and took the darkness from my soul.”

  She cuddled up against his side again, deeply moved by his words and the deep, unwavering love she could feel inside him, one that perfectly matched what rested in her heart “We are a perfect match, my wolf.”

  That we are, lass. That we most certainly are.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Hannah Howell is an award-winning author who lives with her family in Massachusetts. Since Amber Flame, her first historical romance, was released in February 1988, she has published over 25 novels and short stories, with more on the way. Her writing has been repeatedly recognized for its excellence and has “made Waldenbooks Romance Bestseller list a time or two” as well as was nominated twice by Romantic Times for Best Medieval Romance (Promised Passion and Elfking’s Lady). She has also won Romantic Times’ Best British Isles Historical Romance for Beauty and the Beast; and, in 1991-92 she received Romantic Times’ Career Achievement Award for Historical Storyteller of the Year. Hannah loves hearing from readers and you may write to her through her website (www.hannahhowell.com).

 

 

 
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